A Book of Ice and Fire / Game of Thrones : Magic Network

"Your Grace, the men have been brought."

Lord Beric Dondarrion of Blackhaven gazed respectfully at the back of his valiant king, who stood silhouetted against the night sky at the bow of the ship.

Though he had long witnessed the boundless power of Divine Grace, Beric found himself still deeply shaken by what he had seen and heard upon the sea these past two days.

It was, without question, a great miracle in the history of warfare.

In merely two days and two nights, their massive fleet had traversed the waters from Stone Dance Castle to the shores near Rain House City—a journey of two hundred leagues.

Converted to the new measurements established by Divine Grace Light, it was a distance of nearly a thousand kilometers.

Even a swift swan ship with favorable winds and calm seas could not guarantee such speed over so vast a distance.

And this had been accomplished not by a single vessel, but by a fleet of more than three hundred warships carrying tens of thousands of souls.

Especially remarkable was the steel warship beneath his feet.

Beric Dondarrion knew well the terrors of the sea, yet this vessel required neither sail nor oar, relying instead upon steel and Divine Grace for its unstoppable progress.

The massive fleet accompanying them had been more burden than aid.

Had this ship, the "Divine Grace," not been obliged to wait for the "slower" vessels, it might well have reached their destination a full day earlier.

Yet the seemingly ponderous fleet was, in truth, the most formidable sea fortress Beric Dondarrion had ever beheld—one capable of matching or defeating several times its number in enemy warships.

He had seen it with his own eyes.

Upon "Robert's Hammer," the Grace Priest who traveled with the ship had used his powers to rejuvenate every sailor and crewman aboard, leaving them untouched by fatigue.

Thus the fleet sailed without pause, day and night.

Aboard "Fury," the Grace Artificer had immersed himself in repairs and improvements, working without rest.

Every day and a half, it seemed the entire ship had been rebuilt anew—stronger, more beautiful in structure, and smoother in its passage through the waves.

On the deck of "Glory of Tide's Head," there were no catapults or crossbows to be found. In their place stood steel tubes integrated with the deck itself, manipulated at will by the Grace Artificers.

These devices were called "cannons."

Water and fire—Beric Dondarrion could not help but marvel at the wonder of this union.

Clean water or seawater was poured directly into the steel tube, then one or several iron balls were used to block the opening. Once aimed, a Holy Fire Warrior would step forward to inject flames into the breach.

Bang!

The steel would roar, white mist would billow forth, and a terrifyingly immense splash would erupt upon the distant sea.

Some of these steel balls were fearsome creations similar to the "water droplets," only larger, their explosions more violent and scorching.

It was difficult to imagine what carnage such weapons might inflict upon men of flesh and blood.

Unfortunately, Beric Dondarrion knew that whether he wished it or not, this unknown but certainly horrifying scene would soon unfold before his eyes.

Ahead lay Rain House City.

It was most unfortunate that House Wylde of Rain House had chosen to support Renly Baratheon in his rebellion.

More unfortunate still was Rain House City's location on the northern shore of Cape Wrath, bordering Shipbreaker Bay, where the offshore waters ran deep enough for warships to approach, and the castle stood close enough to the sea for the cannons' "water balls" to reach its walls.

With but a single command from the king, the merciless union of water and fire would display their icy cold and scorching heat without restraint.

Steel would bring its hard, sharp advantages to bear with terrible efficiency.

Just one order.

The warship beneath his feet trembled imperceptibly, yet the waves in Beric Dondarrion's heart rose far higher—excitement, surprise, fear, and awe stirring within him as one.

With one order, how many would die? How much glory and honor would be dimmed and extinguished forever?

And how many more such orders would follow in the days to come?

The night was deep.

Turbulent waves beat against the steep cliffs, rocking the silent fleet in their dark embrace.

Beric Dondarrion raised his eyes. The king's back was dark against the night, his outline illuminated by the distant lights of Rain House City, firm and resolute, as though the entire world might be brought to rest within his palm.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly, yet pass in but an instant.

The king turned.

"Lord Beric, you have served me well."

"I am honored to serve Your Grace." Beric Dondarrion stepped back, yielding place to the four figures behind him.

Ser Harth Fell of Fellwood, Ser Rolland Storm of Nightsong, Ser Bruce Buckler of Bronzegate, and Ser Norbert Grandison of Grandview.

According to the king's instructions, these four knights who had led the rebels had boarded the ship with Beric and his party at Stone Dance Castle, while the remaining prisoners were remanded to the Dragonstone fleet.

Yet in the past two days, this was the first time the king had summoned them to his presence.

Unlike Beric, these four Stormlands knights were clearly overwhelmed by the dreamlike marvel of this fleet. Each stood restrained and fearful, dreading that they might somehow anger the master of such power and bring disaster upon their families.

Norbert Grandison now saw the truth of his earlier thoughts.

Without the blessings of the gods, Lord Renly's ambitions would be all but impossible to realize. And the day of his return to his family would indeed come very, very soon—though perhaps not in the manner he had hoped.

Under the silver glow of moonlight, Joffrey examined the four captured knights, considering the four houses they represented.

Bronzegate stood close to the Kingsroad, serving as the northern gate to Storm's End.

The location of Fellwood was of less strategic importance, yet Renly now marched toward it. It would likely be the frontline fortress to receive news of the fleet's attack.

Nightsong represented the first echelon of power in the Stormlands, renowned for its martial prowess. Yet its lords styled themselves "Commanders-in-Chief of the Borderlands"—revealing ambitions that were far from modest.

Grandview—a name that promised much.

Joffrey fixed his gaze upon Norbert Grandison. "The sleeping lion sleeps poorly, it seems. Why did you rashly join this rebellion? Did you not fear bringing ruin upon your house?"

Norbert Grandison replied with careful respect: "I beg your forgiveness, Your Grace. House Grandison has sworn allegiance to Storm's End. Though we knew the peril was great, though we knew blood and sacrifice would be demanded of us, we could only follow our path into the abyss without hesitation."

Joffrey's laugh was cold. "The king and the liege lord—which commands the greater loyalty?"

Norbert dared not answer.

"Many believe that oaths to one's liege lord must be honored above all else." Joffrey stepped forward. "But in my realm, the liege to whom any lord or knight owes his first allegiance can only be me. There can be no doubt in this. Do you understand?"

Norbert bowed deeply.

"Renew your oath, now, to the liege to whom you owe your first allegiance." Joffrey's words were not a request.

After a brief silence, Norbert knelt upon one knee, his voice trembling as he swore his oath of fealty.

Joffrey turned with satisfaction to the next man.

"Ser Harth Fell, what is your answer? After we take Storm's End, the decisive battle will likely be fought at Fellwood."

Harth Fell found he could not resist.

"Ser Bruce Buckler? You have witnessed the Divine Grace upon these warships. Can the bronze gates of Bronzegate withstand such steel and fire?"

Bruce, naturally, lacked the courage to defy him.

"Ser Rolland Storm. House Caron of Nightsong has driven hundreds of thousands of refugees to King's Landing. Lords Wendwater and Massey demand justice. What measure of retribution do you deem appropriate?"

The bastard of Nightsong, too, swore his oath.

Lord Beric Dondarrion of Blackhaven followed close behind, pledging allegiance to the king above any other liege—as he had already been doing.

Joffrey turned and gazed upon Rain House City, distant lights glimmering in the darkness.

"Prepare," he commanded.